Imagine wading through a sea of flashbulbs, surfacing from your
Gleaming car into the mob; draped in animal skins and wafting Chanel
Number 5 down your throat like a poisonous fume.
The stars are out, drowned out in all that dazzling sparkle of
Diamond rings and blood-colored carpets, of french manicures and
A glorious rainbow of silk gowns to bitch about in the tabloids.
I love your porcelain smiles, all miracles of modern dentistry as you
Breathe in the orbit of alcohol and films of gold plating reality in
Your fame-drunk fantasy.